


Starry Night

by blahblahbertha



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, No Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-26 19:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30110661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blahblahbertha/pseuds/blahblahbertha
Summary: Modern RL AU. Cas broke up with Dean for a career in politics, but now he's coming home to their gay farm. Completed.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Kudos: 14





	Starry Night

Dean spent three years alone, chopping wood, tending the animals, and going to the market. Keeping the farm running, and watching tv in his recliner late at night until he drank himself to sleep. Some nights, he stumbled to his empty bed, and others, he just passed out in his recliner. Each day, he worked until his muscles ached. He connected in the community, too. He helped build the stage for the student pageant and watched the kids perform, the kids that reminded him all too much of the product of the one-night stand that he'd probably never see again. He saved a special pocket of cash in a hollowed-out book on his shelf. He'd have sent it on if he knew an address, but always figured maybe he could get it to her through her parents. 

It was a quiet life, and he did alright for himself. For three years, he lived this routine. He started coaching Little League, he turned down a job offer at the lumber mill, and he kept the farm running. Winter came, three times, and he chopped wood, kept the animals warm, and sat in front of the fire with several bottles of Jack Daniels. His brother came to visit, once, and they went camping. Sam was a lawyer, and Dean asked if he'd seen Cas. He had, but they barely talked about it.

Then, that third winter melted away, and he began planting and getting the animals out into the fields. The sounds of town started to stir again, but he couldn't have expected the sound of a little car rattling up the drive, kicking up dust on the dirt road that only his truck had gone down for the last three years. 

And there he was: Cas.

His little car was shiny and it screamed city slicker, though not more than the suit and tie he never seemed to take off. Dean sidled up to the car, and Cas rolled the window down. Dean put his hands on the window and leaned down. "Hey, there."

Silence hung thick in the air between them, and the words didn't come. Cas glanced away, and Dean stood straight, tilting his head back and inhaling deeply through his parted lips, trying to catch his breath in the crisp mountain air. Then, he lowered himself back down to Cas's level, tapping the windowsill once with a closed fist. 

"So, Cas. What's–what's the word?" Dean clasped his hands and Cas stared straight ahead.

"Well, Dean, I've been thinking…" Cas tsked. "Pigs can count, you know. They can count, and I know, just like dogs, they can feel happiness and pain. Yet, for years, I never had empathy for them. Not for the pigs. You still eat pork, right, Dean?"

Dean's answer was hesitant with confusion. He looked down at his hands, spreading them apart in an 'I dunno' gesture, and then looked back up at Cas. "Absolutely. You know I'll never give up on bacon."

A long moment hovered.

"You want to come inside?" Dean asked.

Cas nodded.

"Can I get your bag?" Dean asked, walking around to the trunk.

"Ah, I…" Cas hesitated.

Dean felt his heart pound thickly in his chest. 

"I, um, don't have a bag," Cas explained.

"Gotcha." Dean pursed his lips, the corners turning down, and he clapped his hands together again as Cas clambered out of the car, carefully picking up the only blemish in his car, a small bag of fast food trash.

"How, uh, how are the pigs, Dean?"

"They're doing good. But, uh, most of them… they're not the same pigs, Cas. Red and Bean and Buddy," Dean trailed off. "It's been three years."

Cas blinked hard. "I understand. The farm is looking good."

Dean held open the door and Cas passed in front of him, walking into the kitchen to throw out his wrapper.

"Oh, wait," Dean started, but Cas had already opened the trash can lid. Inside was a stack of bottles and not much else.

Cas' eyes darkened. "Dean?"

Dean looked back at him, tired. "Yeah?" 

They stared at each other for a long minute, and then Dean broke his gaze, staring out the window into the fading light. Cas said nothing but swallowed hard, looking down at his feet. 

"Would you like dinner, Dean?" Cas asked, moving to the fridge.

"Yeah, alright," Dean answered, picking up around the kitchen and living room while Cas pulled out some ground beef from the freezer and taking a cast iron pan from the bottom shelf. They cooked and cleaned in silence. Dean cleared the table, decking it with silverware and cloth napkins, and Cas pulled plates off of the top shelf and taco shells out of the pantry. He poured a liberal amount of garlic powder and a reasonable amount of chili powder among other spices into the meat. When it was crispy, he turned off the heat, garnishing cheese on top and putting a lid on so that it melted tantalizingly across the meat. Dean seamlessly handed him a plate as Cas scooped the meat and cheese into the taco shells, filling five tacos for Dean and three for him.

They sat together at the table, and Dean dug in while Cas ate more reservedly. 

Food bliss lit up Dean's face. "God, this is good. I forgot what a good cook you are."

"Thanks." A moment later, he cleared his throat. "I heard you're coaching Little League.".

"Oh, yeah," Dean mumbled, wiping the corner of his mouth. 

"Do you like it?" Cas stared at Dean, squinting as he tried to figure him out as he so often did.

"Yeah. Yeah, I really do." Dean nodded, a hint of a smile playing at his lips, the first since Cas had showed up that day. "I missed my kid, and I thought I might be able to do something to help. Started getting to know a bunch of families after I built the stage for the town pageant, and wouldn't you know it?" He shook his head in disbelief. "I didn't volunteer. They asked me."

Cas smiled, watching the joy dance over Dean's face. "Sounds like you're fitting in here."

"Guess so," Dean agreed.

Silence hung between them again as day faded away to reveal stars hanging low in the mountain sky. Both of them watched outside. Dean would never get used to how beautiful it was, and Cas, just back from the big city, was almost dazzled by the lights. It wasn't the Milky Way, but it was pretty close.

"So, uh, Cas. How you been?" Dean asked failing to completely conceal his lips pursing in. 

"I've been fine."

"Yeah? D.C. treatin' you okay?"

"As well as D.C. treats anyone. I got a promotion at the think tank, and I got a bid to run for a small office."

Dean's eyebrows raised, impressed, but resignation hung behind the expression. "Oh, yeah? Good for you." He finished his food and put his napkin down hard enough that the plates and silverware jumped with a soft clink. "You need any help getting back into town?" His voice was gruff, eyes a little too shiny.

"Back into town? Why would I be going back to town?"

"To your hotel room, where you've left your stuff."

"I don't have a hotel room, Dean." His brow furrowed and he stared at Dean in confusion, looking him up and down. "Do you want me to find a hotel room?"

Dean's eyes went wide. "What? No! I just figured–" He gestured helplessly.

"No, I understand. It's been three years. I shouldn't have–I'll just go find a hotel room." Cas got up and went for the door. "It's getting late anyways."

"No, Cas!" Dean reached out to stop him, clasping his arm, and Cas turned back towards him with surprise in his eyes. "You don't, you don't have to leave. That's not what I'm saying. You can stay." For a moment, a question hung in his eyes as he looked up at Cas, and then it morphed into reassurance, and he gave a nod, letting go of Castiel's arm. "It is getting late, though. The bed's already made up, and I can sleep on the couch."

Cas winced in surprise. "Um. Sure." He stepped gingerly into the living room, looking around for something. And he found it: a violin case on the mantle. "So, you kept it."

Dean shrugged. "I kept it all."

Cas nodded once, relief washing over his face. He picked up the case, rosined up the bow, and watched Dean intently as he tested the strings to tune it.

Dean stood up. "I'm getting a beer. You want one?"

Cas' eyes widened slightly. 

"The answer's yes or no, Cas."

Cas nodded slowly. "No, thank you, Dean."

"A'ight." Dean agreed, leaving Cas to tune the violin as he got a beer from the fridge, flopping comfortably on the couch in front of Cas. Not his recliner, which sat closed besides him, but his couch. 

Cas pursed his lips, satisfied, and pulled the bow across the strings. First, he played _The Devil Went Down to Georgia,_ and Dean laughed. "If anyone could beat the devil, it's you," he teased.

The song came to a close, and Cas rolled straight into the next one. A sweet, melancholy tone filled the room: a song he'd written for Dean a long time ago. Dean's Song. It wasn't rock, per se, but it always seemed to stir Dean nonetheless. Tonight, Dean took a long drink of his beer, not quite watching Cas. 

He wasn't smiling anymore. "Guess you didn't forget how to play."

"I did not," Cas answered. 

Cas had been in violin lessons since he was a kid, and he'd tried to compose songs, classical or folk or orchestral music, since he was only a teenager. None of it ever came out right until after he met Dean. It wasn't some great cosmological change, although after he met Dean, he believed a person could be completely transformed. No, it was the rock music Dean introduced him to. Dean gifted him that Zepplin mixtape and he must have listened to it a thousand times. It transformed the music he wrote–it made it work. And the crowning masterpiece, he sat down and wrote it over one long day and night: Dean's Song. Dean had loved that song, had hummed it constantly, had tried to get Cas to record it for him so he could listen to it anytime he wanted. After a while of teasing–and the time it took to find and book an appropriate studio–Cas had obliged. And when Cas's mixtape busted from too much listening, and following a new car, Dean had made him a CD to replace it. Cas held onto it until he left, when he returned it to Dean, explaining that his new car didn't even have a CD player. Dean had told him to keep it: it was gift. But Cas left it behind.

Dean finished the beer around the time the last strains of Cas's song faded out. "I've got to be up early. You don't have to sleep, but it's lights out for me."

Cas nodded and packed the violin away. "Dean, why _is_ the bed made up? You didn't know I was coming."

"Random. Just washed the sheets," Dean lied, glancing away from Cas.

"I see," Cas agreed. The two of them stared at each other for a long moment.

"Can you shut the lights off?" Cas nodded, turned them off, and disappeared alone into the bedroom.

Dean grabbed his blanket from the recliner, throwing it over his legs on the couch. Weariness pressed him but he couldn't sleep, staring endlessly into the dark until the first grey almost-light snuck into the room. With that, he went to the front door, tugged on his boots, and headed out into the early morning to start tending the farm. 

Finally, Dean stopped to take a break, all the morning tasks done. He sat on a bench he'd built from a tree that he chopped down, and suddenly, Cas was next to him. Damn that man, he always had the lightest step.

"What's up, Cas?"

"I made pancakes."

Dean perked up. "And bacon?"

"Of course."

A few minutes later, they were at the table. For a long while, they ate in silence. 

Finally, Dean spoke.

"Cas, we should talk."

"Yes, I agree."

"So. How long are you here for this time?" Dean leaned back in his chair.

"What?"

Dean circled his hand, half 'you heard me' and half 'get on with it.'

"I have no timeline."

"You gotta. I mean, you've got that election coming up."

"No. I turned it down."

"Why? I thought that was the whole point." Dean's jaw clenched.

"I thought I could make them listen, Dean, but I couldn't. I couldn't make them care."

Dean nodded. "So, what's next?"

"I don't know."

"Alright," Dean grunted, getting up from the table and clearing the dishes. "Well, as fun as this has been, I gotta get back to work. I've got a farm to run."

"Dean. I saw the work you did this morning. You don't _need_ to do anything else today. You could take the day off."

"What for?"

"To talk." 

"I thought we just did," Dean grimaced, pushing past him.

"Dean, wait."

Dean hesitated, searching Castiel's face. "I've done nothing but wait."

"I don't understand."

"For the last three years. I've done nothing but wait for you to come home. Wasn't really sure you would, but what else could I do? But the truth is, Cas, I really don't know why you're here. I'm doing fine without you," he growled.

"Are you, Dean?" Cas swept his arm out to the living room with its blanket and pillow, to the kitchen with its liquor bottles. 

"Yeah, not that it's any business of yours! I keep the farm tended, I keep my fridge stocked, and I get up every day. I coach Little League."

"I'm worried about you, Dean."

"Oh, yeah? Well, you're three years late for that. Why don't you tell me why you're really here?"

"I had no idea, Dean."

"Bullshit. What did you think leaving would do to me?"

"I don't know."

"Yeah. 'Cause you never thought about it, huh?"

"I wanted to make a change, make things safer, especially for us."

"Yeah, exactly. You picked the world over me."

Cas hung his head. "I just thought–you were always so–I just thought if I could change some things," Cas broke off.

"You didn't ask me to come. You gave me back the damn mixtape." 

"Would you have?" Can stared intently at him. "If I'd asked."

Dean grimaced.

"Would you?" Cas leaned in.

"No."

"Dean, I'm here because I screwed up. I thought I could change things, but I'm not cut out for it. I've missed you every day of the last three years, and when they offered me the electoral bid, I couldn't do it. I was tired of being political, and I was tired of feeling alone."

"Cas." Dean turned away and then turned back. "When you left, it crushed me. I can't even sleep in my own damn bed most nights. You were the love of my life, and you walked out that door. I figured you'd come back, but–I always thought I'd be happy to have you for as long as you were here."

Cas nodded, listening. 

"But I can't. Losing you a second time–I _can't_. So, I gotta know now. Are you here to stay, or are you just rolling through town?" 

"Dean, I want to come home. That's why I don't have a suitcase. I'm ready to get my few things shipped here. I want to come home forever," he repeated. "I swear it."

Dean grabbed him hard, pulling him into a hug like he thought it could pull all his broken pieces back together. "You swear?"

"I swear. Forever, Dean." Cas held him tight in return.

For a long moment, they held each other, until they pulled away just far enough to kiss. Not long after, they were in bed, sheets strewn about, and in each other's arms.

"Fuck, Cas, you really did a number on me when I went."

"I know. I'm sorry. I should have asked you to come, I should have tried for long distance… I was an asshole." 

Dean laughed. "Yeah, you were."

"I want to get involved with the community here. Make some commitments. Maybe… maybe we can coach Little League together."

"Yeah, I don't think that's how it works. But I'm sure we can find a way for you to help out, if you want. Or you could sit on town council or something," Dean teased.

"Oh, no," Cas answered. "No. I am done with politics. If I have to spend one more day making sure that I don't leak any of these secrets or try to figure out how not to say the wrong thing at the wrong time…" He shook his head dismally.

"Secrets, huh?" Dean grinned, propping himself on one arm. "What _kind_ of secrets?" 


End file.
